


rhythm and reason

by spectreshepard



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Eivor has a low-key pain kink, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tattoos, Vili is happy to oblige
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:41:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29525877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spectreshepard/pseuds/spectreshepard
Summary: Eivor finds enough downtime to invest in some new ink. It’s a difficult tattoo in a painful place, but Eivor enjoys the sensation more than he’s willing to admit - this time, though, Vili is here to help him out with the aftercare.
Relationships: Eivor/Vili Hemmingson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 57





	rhythm and reason

**Author's Note:**

> this is entirely the vili/eivor discord’s fault, eivor’s affinity for pain and especially tattoo pain was brought up and i haven’t stopped thinking about it since.

Vili’s attention is pulled from his careful work on his handaxe by the sound of a door closing, and the sunlight that was pouring in from the longhouse door is suddenly gone. Vili finds Eivor standing there, clothed only in his breeches and boots, hauling the crossbeam into place across his bedroom door, back glistening with sweat — where has he been? Vili frowns, about to open his mouth and ask when Eivor turns to face him. Vili immediately recalls Eivor’s words this morning, plans to visit Tove to begin a new tattoo - a celebration of his achievements so far, he’d said. And Vili can see the fresh, saturated ink peeking up by Eivor’s hip, the first piece of a greater whole that would eventually take up far more of his skin. 

“Are you busy?” Eivor asks, and Vili can hardly ignore how deep and husky his voice is, almost hoarse. Vili sits up, paying full attention as Eivor walks towards him, passing through slight sunbeams trailing in from the smallest of gaps in the roof of his room, catching his eyes in vivid colour for a passing second as he nears. There’s something commanding in the way he walks, with purpose and intent, and Vili feels something stirring in him when he notices that Eivor’s eyes are fixed on him, like he’s the Wolf-Kissed’s chosen quarry for the day. 

“I get the feeling it doesn’t quite matter if I am.” Vili answers, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Eivor’s smile is… dangerous, in the best way. It sends a thrill up Vili’s spine. Eivor closes the distance easily, grabbing the axe in Vili’s grip and tossing it aside, replacing it with himself in Vili’s lap, straddling him, arms falling over Vili’s shoulders as he brings them face to face. 

“Eivor?” Vili isn’t going to argue this turn of events, his arms going instinctively to wrap around the smaller man, who grins at him, but there’s a strange quality to his smile - something slightly unhinged. Something he’s seen in berserkir and frenzied drengir, not his Eivor.

And yet, he’s captivated. He leans in, wanting to drink in the feeling somehow, his lips meeting Eivor’s softly, gently, without pressure or prayer. Eivor seems as he always does, pliant and soft, but something turns when Vili’s hands begin to roam. He feels Eivor grow tense, shifting closer, and then he realizes why as his hands drop to Eivor’s thighs. His breeches are tented tight, betraying his arousal, and Vili manages to put the components together. Enduring a tattoo is an arduous process, there’s a reason they only do pieces at a time, and Eivor seems to last longer than most — perhaps because there’s a quiet part of him that enjoys it, secretly, and now he has a way to relieve the tension in the aftermath. 

Vili smiles against Eivor’s lips, understanding. 

“You know, I was planning on working on my axes today.” He mumbles as he pulls away, Eivor beginning to trail teeth and tongue along his scruffy jaw and down his neck. 

“It’s not  _ your _ axe that needs working on.” Eivor responds, voice gruff, and he makes a point of leaving a mark on Vili’s neck, as if the notion deserved the insult of pain returned. Vili’s breath catches in his throat.

“No, you’re right, of course.” Vili swallows, letting Eivor play as he likes, but he wonders how far down that tattoo of his runs. Curious, Vili squeezes Eivor’s thigh, the same side he’s seen the tattoo peeking out on, and Eivor lets out a sharp gasp, fingers suddenly digging into Vili’s shoulders almost hard enough to leave marks. 

Well, then. Vili’s smile grows, and he begins his work, as Eivor’s so politely requested. 

He explores freely with his hands, returning to steal kiss after kiss from Eivor’s willing mouth in between his purposeful investigations of muscle and skin, finding the usual places that coax pleased sighs and praise from Eivor. As soon as the warmth of Vili’s fingers graze the raised, raw skin of Eivor’s ink for the first time, Eivor moans right into his ear. It makes Vili‘s breath quicken, and he presses his lips to the curve of Eivor’s neck, soft and sweet, tasting salt and sweat when he bites down suddenly, hard enough to leave a mark in return for the one he received. Eivor grinds against him, whispered pleas falling short of their mark. His hands fumble, going from Vili’s neck, to his shoulders, to fisting in the fabric of his shirt, all the while Eivor presses himself closer, wanting more. 

“You should let the needle meet your skin more often.” Vili murmurs at Eivor’s ear, nipping at his lobe, nose tracing the shell. He lets his hands roam further, sliding up Eivor’s waist along soft, warm skin, the firm contour of muscle fraught with building tension that Eivor is doing everything to break. Vili lets out a pleased sigh, pressing idle kisses to Eivor’s cheek, the corner of his mouth, and then his lips, slow and steady. Eivor whimpers into him, words meaningless against Vili’s patience. Vili pulls away for a second, wanting to take in his share of Eivor, the sight of his warrior's body, eyes tracing the line of scars he knows as well as his own. Eivor moves to close the distance again, but Vili presses a hand to Eivor’s chest and keeps him there, blunt nails raking down the exposed skin. Eivor’s eyes are intense, burning as they stare at Vili, seeing through a pain-enhanced haze. Eivor rolls his hips again, defiant even as Vili holds him at bay, and Vili has to bite his lips to keep his pleasure silent, Eivor’s moans growing louder and more desperate as he moves in Vili’s lap. Vili’s hands find Eivor’s waist and hold him still with a growl, fingers digging hard enough to bruise, especially close to the fresh tattoo on Eivor’s left side. It makes Eivor writhe in his grip, too many points of pain slowly melting into pleasure. 

“Vili, I- please—“ Eivor’s begging is a mess, just like him. His pale skin is flushed across his chest, his cheeks, blonde eyelashes fluttering as he struggles to keep his eyes open in his delirium, wanting to lose himself entirely. His hair is falling loose, strands beginning to stick to his forehead, his braid tumbling over his shoulder. Vili could drink the sight in all day if Eivor would last that long.

“Alright.” Vili’s smile turns wicked, and without warning, rocks his hips into Eivor, drawing out a surprised cry. He lifts a hand to press against Eivor’s chest again, dragging down with blunted fingernails to leave angry red marks behind this time, his other hand dropping to palm Eivor roughly through his breeches. With a moan falling from his mouth, Eivor drops his head to rest on Vili’s shoulder, his hands going to grip Vili’s biceps in a pitiful attempt to keep himself balanced as he bucks into Vili’s hand, uselessly. It’s not enough. Vili feels his patience running out, his own desire beginning to push him into frantic fumbling as he fiddles with the laces on Eivor’s breeches, pulling them free just enough to slip a hand in. Eivor gasps as he feels Vili’s hand grip his cock, stroking firmly, relentlessly, sending waves of pleasure rolling through him. He brings his hands to Vili’s shoulders, pushing and pulling, like he doesn’t know what he’s trying to get Vili to agree to. Vili laughs, the sound sending another shock of pleasure through Eivor with the way they’re connected, Vili’s strokes slowing until he’s barely touching him anymore and Eivor whimpers, left wanting. 

“Hey…” Vili grabs Eivor’s chin, forcing those dazed blue eyes to look at him, “Have some patience.” 

Eivor’s response is a lazy grin, but he stills long enough to let Vili pull his own shirt off and shift backwards on the bed enough that he can recline against the hefty pile of furs and pillows, and he pulls Eivor with him. Eivor straddles him still, knees either side of his hips, breeches half undone, cock red and angry where it lies devoid of Vili’s attention, and Eivor watches him with his lower lip caught between his teeth, dazed eyes turning dark and hungry. Vili laughs breathlessly, desire pooling fast despite his efforts to focus on Eivor.

“Come here.” Vili murmurs, reaching up to curl a hand around the back of Eivor’s neck, pulling him gently down to meet him with a kiss, slow and measured, until Eivor grows impatient again and asks for more, teeth nipping, tongue exploring. Vili lets him, and his other hand trails down Eivor’s neck, along his chest, following the fine dusting of blonde hair there, down and down until he brushes the head of Eivor’s cock, drawing a sudden gasp from his lips. Eivor breaks the kiss only to brace his hands either side of Vili’s head, swallowing thickly as he waits for Vili to tell him what to do. Vili’s lips lift in a self satisfied smirk, and he trails a finger along Eivor’s kiss swollen lips, thinking.

But he deliberates too long, Eivor growls, dissatisfied, slipping a hand down between them - at first, Vili thinks only to take care of himself, but then he feels Eivor palm him heavily through his own breeches and he hisses, bucking up into him without thinking. 

“No, no-no,” Vili groans, the sound twisted up in a laugh, “Let’s take care of you first.” 

He closes his hand around Eivor’s length again, and Eivor lets out a sigh of relief that sinks into another low moan when Vili begins to work him, slowly, easily, giving him minimal friction and stopping almost entirely every time Eivor tries to change that. His other hand closes around Eivor’s throat, holding him right where he can watch him, the way his eyes are half closed, how his lips catch between teeth, sighs and soft moans slipping out instead of words. Eivor’s arms are taut either side of Vili’s head, veins standing out against the tattooed skin, his grip twisting the furs around Vili’s head. He’s steady, for now. 

“Good…” Vili chuckles lowly, and releases his hold around Eivor’s throat. Where next? He eyes the fresh ink of Eivor’s latest addition, peeking out just above the waistband of his breeches at his hip. Slowly, he drags a finger down Eivor’s side, closer and closer to the raised edge of the ink, and then his touches turn feather light as they drift right over it, and over the fresh oil that covers it. Eivor’s breath hitches suddenly and his moans turns into a keening whine, his entire body going tense. Vili squeezes his fist around him, testing his limit.

“Shit!” Eivor breathes, “Fuck- Vili, do that— do that again-“ 

Vili strokes him once, then twice, then with his other hand he drags his touch back over the raised skin, digging deeper once he reaches the unmarked skin of his hip, leaving little crescent moons there. Eivor brings a hand down onto Vili’s chest, curled into a shaking fist, head thrown back in quiet ecstasy. Vili can’t stop staring, he looks wonderful like this, completely out of control and  _ free _ . Slowly, Eivor begins to roll his hips into Vili’s hand, fucking into his grip as Vili lazily drags fingers back and forth along the tattoo that peeks above his waistband. It drives Eivor into an incoherent frenzy, his pace growing faster and more urgent, words tumbling out into incoherent sounds, but Vili understands, he knows Eivor as he knows his own heart, it’s rhythm and its reasons. He adjusts for Eivor’s growing need, shifting up onto his elbows, pumping him as Eivor fucks his hand, like this is a fumbling rut stolen in the rafters of longhouse and not a lazy afternoon in the privacy of their own room, but the desperation of it is intoxicating. Eivor is driven by something else entirely today, this strange mix of pleasure and pain heightening every sense to the point of it being overwhelming, and he’s left entirely in Vili’s care. 

“Vili— I can’t—“ Eivor mumbles brokenly into Vili’s ear, his pace growing erratic and difficult to match. 

Vili smiles, pressing a kiss to the sweat-slicked skin of Eivor’s neck, quietly reassuring. “Let go.” 

Eivor tenses sharply, every muscle in his body going tight as a cry is ripped from his mouth, tangled with Vili’s name as he comes hard, pain driving him into a level of ecstasy he’s never seen before. He spills over Vili’s hand, over his belly, almost onto his chest, and finally Eivor’s thrusts slow, his breaths coming in short hard gasps, hot on Vili’s skin where he rests his sweat drenched forehead on Vili’s shoulder. 

They stay there for a moment, Vili lazily dragging a hand up and down Eivor’s back as he falls slack against him, hot and sweaty and heavy, but sated. He presses mindless kisses to Eivor’s temple, his cheek, even his ear, all the places he can reach, until he feels Eivor laughing quietly against him.

“You’re right, I should visit Tove more often.” Eivor says hoarsely, and Vili’s own laugh rumbles through them. He shifts slightly, keenly aware of how Eivor’s thigh is pressing against his own obvious desire, but Eivor stops him with a hand to his side, and Vili can feel him smiling against him. 

“Oh no, you aren’t leaving, not until I repay the favour.”


End file.
